Ashworth Hall

by Anne Perry

  “In Finn ’Ennessey’s room, sir.” She colored painfully. “I went ter tell ’im I were sorry for makin’ ’im look at the truth about Neassa Doyle an’ Drystan O’Day and Mr. Chinnery. You see, I made ’im look at the newspaper pieces.”

  “What newspaper pieces?”

  “Them wot Mrs. Pitt brought back from Lunnon. It proved Mr. Chinnery couldn’t a’ done it, ’cos ’e were dead.”

  “But that was thirty years ago. It wouldn’t be in today’s newspapers,” he said reasonably. “Are you sure you have that right, Gracie?”

  “Yes sir. They was old newspapers … just pieces like.”

  “Old newspaper cuttings?” he said in disbelief.

  “Yeah. She brung ’em back from Lunnon.” Her face was completely innocent and full of fear.

  “Did she indeed? I’ll speak to Mrs. Pitt about that later. So you saw what looked like dynamite in Finn Hennessey’s room?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Does he know you saw it?”

  “I …” She lowered her eyes. She looked wretched. “I fink so. ’E came after me later on, ter try an’ explain, I fink. I … I din’t listen … I jus’ ran.”

  “How long ago did you see this dynamite, Gracie?”

  She did not look at him. “About two hours,” she whispered.

  He did not need to tell her that she should have reported it to him straightaway. She knew it already.

  “I see. Then I had better go and speak to him about it. You stay here with Mrs. Pitt. And that’s an order, Gracie.”

  “Yes sir.” Still she did not look up.

  “Gracie …”

  “Yeah …”

  “He might have hidden it, because he knew you’d seen it, but he can’t have taken it off the premises.”

  She looked up slowly.

  He smiled at her.

  Her eyes filled with tears which spilled over down her cheeks.

  He put his hand on her shoulder very gently. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “But you did the only thing you could.”

  She nodded and sniffed.

  He patted her, wishing he could do more, and went out to find Tellman.

  Charlotte looked at him inquiringly.

  “I think we have to arrest Finn Hennessey,” he said almost under his breath. “I wish I didn’t.”

  Her face crumpled with sorrow, and she turned to the bathroom to go immediately to Gracie.

  “Come on.” Pitt strode ahead along the corridor, leaving Tellman to follow behind, torn whether to stay or go, hating every step of it.

  At the top of the main stairs they found Wheeler looking surprisingly cheerful. For a man whose employer had just been murdered and who therefore was about to be without a position, his general air of well-being was extraordinary. He seemed to glow with some inner secret which buoyed him up and filled him with joy.

  “Do you know where Hennessey is?” Pitt asked him.

  “Yes sir,” Wheeler said instantly. “He is in the stable yard talking to one of the grooms. Seems to have made friends. Poor young man has nothing much to do now that Mr. McGinley is dead.”

  “Rather like yourself,” Pitt observed.

  Wheeler looked faintly surprised. “Why yes, I suppose it is.” He did not seem greatly perturbed by it, and having ascertained that that was all he could do to be of assistance, he continued on his way.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Tellman demanded angrily, catching up with Pitt to walk side by side with him along the passageway towards the side door. “He looks like he ate the cream instead of a man without a job.”

  “I don’t know,” Pitt replied. “I would guess it has something to do with Doll Evans. I hope so.” He shot Tellman a dazzling smile, then went out of the door and strode across the ground towards the stable gates, leaving Tellman to follow after.

  Finn Hennessey was standing in the yard talking to a groom who was lounging against the stable door. They were sheltered from the wind and it was quite mild out there in the late afternoon. Pitt dropped his pace to an amble. He did not want Finn to run, and then have to chase him in an unpleasant scene. It would all be painful enough. He saw Tellman walk past and go to the far side of the yard, as if he intended going through the gates and into the drive.

  “Mr. Hennessey,” Pitt said, stopping in front of him.

  Finn looked around and straightened up, throwing away the straw he had been chewing. The groom seemed unaware of anything untoward.

  “Yes?” Finn said, then saw something in Pitt’s eyes, in his face, or even the tension in his body. For a second of prickling silence he stood poised on the edge of flight, panic in his face. Then he realized there was nowhere to run to, and he relaxed. A curious rigidity took hold of him. His body stiffened as though in anticipation of a blow, and a veil came over the directness of his eyes. “Yes?” he said again.

  Pitt had seen that look before. He had not really expected Hennessey to tell him anything, but the faint hope of it died that moment.

  “Finn Hennessey, I would like to question you about the dynamite placed in Mr. Radley’s study and exploded by Mr. McGinley, we assume, in an attempt to make it safe. Do you know where that dynamite came from?”

  “No,” Finn said with a faint smile.

  “I have reason to believe there may still be some in your room,” Pitt said grimly. “I intend to go and look. If, of course, you have removed it and placed it somewhere else, then it would be better for you if you tell me where it is before it explodes and hurts someone else … almost certainly someone who has no part in your quarrel.”

  “I’m saying nothing,” Finn replied, then stood still, his head lifted, his eyes straight ahead.

  Tellman came up behind him and slipped on the handcuffs. The groom looked aghast. He opened his mouth to speak and then found he had nothing to say.

  Pitt turned and left to go and search Hennessey’s room. He took the butler, Dlikes, with him, in case he should find something and later require a witness to the fact.

  Dlikes stood in the doorway somberly, deeply unhappy at the whole affair. Pitt went into the room and began methodically to go through cupboards and drawers. He found the candles and the one stick of dynamite inside a tall boot at the back of the wardrobe. It was out of sight, but hardly hidden. Hennessey had either been sure enough of Gracie or had thought it not worth trying to hide in some other place less obviously his. Maybe his type of loyalty extended to not attempting to lay the blame on anyone else. He was a passionate believer in his cause, not a murderer for hire or for personal satisfaction.

  There was paper ash in the bowl. It could have been anything, possibly the letter Gracie saw on the table. He had taken care at least to destroy everything to link him to someone else. That was worth a kind of oblique respect.

  Pitt showed the dynamite to Dlikes, then replaced it and requested the butler to lock the door and give him the key. If there was another key, he was to find that and give it to Pitt also. There was a storeroom with a grille window and a stout door where Hennessey could remain until the local police took him away, perhaps tomorrow or the day after.

  Pitt went back to Finn again, with Tellman, and told him about finding the dynamite.

  “I’m not saying anything,” Finn repeated, looking directly at Pitt. “I know my cause is just. I’ve lived for Irish freedom. I’ll die for it if I have to. I love my country and its people. I’ll just be one more martyr in the cause.”

  “Being hanged for a murder you committed is not martyrdom,” Pitt replied tartly. “Most people would regard murdering your employer, a man who trusted you, another Irishman fighting for the same cause, as a pretty shabby and cowardly betrayal. And not only that, but pointless as well. What did killing McGinley achieve? He wanted exactly the same as you did.”

  “I didn’t kill McGinley,” Finn said stubbornly. “I didn’t put the dynamite there.”

  “You expect us to believe that?” Pitt said with disdain.

  “I don’t care a damn wh
at you believe!” Finn spat back. “You’re just another English oppressor forcing your will on a defenseless people.”

  “You’re the one with the dynamite,” Pitt retaliated. “You’re the one who blew up McGinley, not me.”

  “I didn’t put the dynamite there! Anyway, it wasn’t meant for McGinley, you fool,” Finn said contemptuously. “It was for Radley! I’d have thought you’d realize that—” He stopped.

  Pitt smiled. “If you didn’t put it there, how do you know who it was meant for?”

  “I’m saying nothing,” Finn repeated angrily. “I don’t betray my friends. I’ll die first.”

  “Probably,” Pitt agreed. But he also knew that he would get little more from him, and grudgingly he respected his courage, if little else. “You are being used,” he added from the door.

  Finn smiled. His face was very pale, and there was a sweat of fear on his lip. “But I know by whom, and what for, and I’m willing. Can you say as much?”

  “I believe so,” Pitt replied. “Are you as sure that those you’ve used feel as certain?”

  Finn’s jaw tightened. “You use who you have to. The cause justifies it.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Pitt replied, this time with absolute certainty. “If it destroys what is good in you, then it is a bad cause, or you have misunderstood it. Everything you do becomes part of it and part of you. You can’t take it off, like old clothes, when you get there. It’s not clothes, Finn, it’s your flesh.”

  “No, it isn’t!” Finn shouted after him, but Pitt shut the door and walked slowly back towards the kitchens and then into the main part of the house. He was miserable, and inside him there was a deep, hard anger. Finn had been gullible, like thousands of others. The worst in him had been wooed and won, then used by more cynical people. Certainly he had been willing to choose violence to right the wrongs he perceived. He had not cared who was hurt by it. But he had had the courage of his beliefs. He had taken at least some of the risks himself. Behind him were other men, hidden, who had prompted him to his acts, who had perpetuated the old legends and lies and used them to motivate the repeating violence.

  He would dearly like to have known who wrote the letter Finn had burned. That was the man he wanted. And it was probably someone in this house. He feared it was Padraig Doyle.

  He went to the library, where what was left of the conference was still proceeding. He knocked and went in. Moynihan and O’Day were sitting at one side of the table, Jack and Doyle on the other. They all looked up as Pitt came in.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he apologized. “But I must speak with Mr. Radley. I am sorry, but it cannot wait.”

  Moynihan glanced at O’Day, who was watching Pitt.

  “Of course,” Doyle said quickly. “I hope nothing further unpleasant has happened? No one is hurt?”

  “Were you expecting something?” O’Day demanded.

  Doyle merely smiled and waved his hand in dismissal.

  Outside in the hall, Pitt told Jack about finding the dynamite and arresting Finn Hennessey.

  Jack looked deeply unhappy. “What does it prove?” he said with a frown. “Who is behind him?”

  “I don’t know,” Pitt admitted.

  Jack was puzzled. “But we have O’Day’s word that neither McGinley nor Hennessey could have killed Greville!”

  “I know. That was Justine—”

  Jack’s jaw dropped. “What? Oh come, Thomas! You’ve made a mistake there. You must have. You’re not saying she’s behind this? She’s Irish?”

  “No—no, that had nothing to do with politics.” Pitt sighed. “I don’t know the answer to that yet, only the evidence. She was seen by Gracie ….” He saw Jack’s face. “Her shoes were,” he tried to explain. “She was dressed as a maid. Gracie saw her back, but today remembered seeing her shoes as well ….” He stopped again. Jack’s expression made continuing unnecessary.

  “I must tell Iona and Mrs. Greville that I have arrested Hennessey,” he said quietly. “If you can keep the men talking a little longer it would be very helpful.”

  “Doyle?” Jack asked, his voice hard and sad.

  “Probably,” Pitt agreed. He did not add that he wished it were not. He could see it in Jack’s face as well. But being likable and having a sense of humor and imagination were not mitigating factors in murder, simply coincidences, just added hurt after the difficulty and the ugliness and the waste of it.

  Pitt found Iona alone in the long gallery staring out into the wind and the gathering dusk. She did not turn, and for several moments he stood watching her. Her face was completely immobile, her expression impossible to read. He wondered what was occupying her mind so intensely she was apparently unaware of anyone else having come into the room, let alone of being observed.

  At first he thought it was a calmness in her. She seemed almost relaxed, the lines and tension somewhat gone from her features. There was no sense of pain in her, no torment, no violence of emotions, certainly not the anger which so often accompanied loss. There was no struggle to deny the reality, to go back and recapture the past before the bereavement.

  Did she really not care, feel no pain or grief at the heroic death of her husband? For all her romantic songs, her poetry and music, was she essentially quite cold inside, a lover of the beauty of art, but dead to reality? It was a peculiarly repellent thought. He found himself shivering although the gallery was not cold.

  “Mrs. McGinley …” He wanted to break the moment.

  She turned towards him, not startled, simply mildly surprised.

  “Yes, Mr. Pitt?”

  He saw sadness and confusion in her eyes. She was lost, uncertain what she felt, only that it hurt. There was no excitement, no relief that she was free to go to Moynihan, or even resolution that she wanted to. Perhaps her emotion in seeking him had not been love so much as loneliness?

  “I am sorry, Mrs. McGinley, but I have had to arrest your manservant, Finn Hennessey. He was in possession of dynamite.”

  Her eyes widened. “Dynamite? Finn was?”

  “Yes. It was in his room. He has not denied it, simply refused to give any explanation or say where he got it, though he denies making the bomb or placing it in the study.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know, yet, but it is only a matter of time now.” That was a lie, he felt no such certainty, but he wanted her to believe he did. She might even have been the one behind Finn, although he doubted it. He knew she had not placed the bomb herself; her time was accounted for by Moynihan and by Doyle. “I am telling you simply so you know why he is no longer available to you. I’m sorry.”

  She turned away from him, looking out again towards the dusk beyond the window where rain now spattered the panes.

  “He was always passionate about Ireland, about our freedom. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. But I really never thought he would hurt Lorcan. He loved Ireland as much as anyone.”

  She was silent for a moment and when she continued there was a different kind of pain in her voice. “As long as I knew Lorcan, it was what he cared about most … more, I think, than he ever loved me. Freedom for Ireland was what he talked about, planned for, worked for all his life. No sacrifice of time or money was too much. I know it was meant for Mr. Radley, but if Finn knew it was there, you would think he would have stopped Lorcan going to try to …” She shook her head. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps they quarreled. He may have tried to stop him, and Lorcan was determined to defuse it anyway. I don’t know. I don’t even know why.” She blinked. “I seem to find there is so much confuses me now … things I thought I was certain of.”

  He did not know what to say. He wished there was something comforting, an assurance that it would pass, but there was none. It would not necessarily resolve.

  She looked at him and suddenly smiled very slightly. “I thought you were going to say something trite. Thank you for not doing so.”

  He found himself coloring, immensely relieved he had not spoken. He looked at h
er for a moment longer, then turned and went.

  In the evening, after dinner, Pitt was obliged to face the necessity of looking more closely at the body of Ainsley Greville. If Tellman were correct and he had lain in the bath at the angle described, then his neck had been broken. Perhaps it was possible the blow to the back of his skull had accomplished that, but he found it hard to believe, and he would not accept it without detailed examination. The blow, as he had seen it, would have been enough to concuss but not to cause death—unless it were a great deal harder than it had appeared to him. It did not seem at the right angle. If Greville’s neck were broken, then he had not drowned. Pitt needed to resolve it. Perhaps it made no difference to the charge, or to Justine’s guilt, but it was unexplained, and he would not leave it so.

  He needed Piers’s help. And if it were necessary to do more than examine from the surface, then it would have to be Piers who did so. He should have Eudora’s permission. That was something he dreaded, but there was no alternative.

  Charlotte saw him as he was starting up the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, catching up with him, searching his face anxiously.

  “To ask Piers to help me look at the body again,” he answered. “He’s upstairs with his mother. Anyway, I need her permission, or more properly, I would rather not take the time and trouble to apply for a legal writ.”

  Her face tightened. “An autopsy?” she said huskily. “Thomas, you can’t ask Piers to do an autopsy on his own father! And … and when are you going to tell him it was Justine? What are you going to do about her?”

  “Nothing yet,” he answered, meeting her gaze. She looked frightened and worried, and still her composure was complete. If she wanted or needed comfort there was no sign of it.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” she offered. “In case Eudora is very distressed? Some people find the invasion of an autopsy very dreadful … as if in some way the person they loved could know about the … the intimacy of it.”

  Instinct told him to decline.

  “No, thank you. I think this is something better done with as few people involved as possible. I won’t even take Tellman.” He changed the subject. “How is Gracie? She’s taken this matter of Hennessey very bad.”